


Naughty Boys

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cane, Caning, Corporal Punishment, Erotica, Fantasizing, High School, M/M, Masturbation, School, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you're a naughty boy again, Mycroft, it'll be six.”<br/>Mycroft gives in to his feral fantasies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naughty Boys

Greg Lestrade, or 'Mr Lestrade' as Mycroft knew him, could only be a few years older than him. Mycroft was eighteen, just about, and Mr Lestrade was perhaps twenty four, twenty five. He was also a fresh recruit to the police, who visited Mycroft's independent school once a week to help the sixth formers with their job and University applications. Mycroft didn't particularly need the help – he'd completed his first A Levels when he was fourteen, but hadn't been allowed to go to University early, so had instead completed several more A Levels and a handful of extra GCSEs, mostly just for fun. He'd already been approached by Cambridge and Oxford with offers for places, and his weekend job was not in a shop, like most lads, but doing low level administrative work for the government.

Really, Mycroft shouldn't have noticed Mr Lestrade at all. However, in an environment of sweaty, sticky teenage boys, it was hard not to notice the Zeus of looks. His muscles bulged through the formal, rather tight clothes that he wore, and his thick brown hair spiked out from his head in a fluffy quiff. His grin was almost shy, but he certainly wasn't – he'd lean in closely to every boy to hear them more closely, resting a hand on their knee or shoulder.

“Mikey, are you quite alright?”

Mycroft shook himself out of his daydream. “Yes, mother.”

* * *

 

“Today, we're going to be going through interview etiquette. How many of you have attended interviews before?”

Around half the class raised their hands, and Greg's face split into a grin, his arms opening in a gesture of pleasure. “Thank God! At the Comprehensive, only one or two had been. Right...Peter! Come up here as if I was an interviewer and shake my hand.”

Peter took a moment to realise what was going on, used as he was to being addressed by his surname. However, after a second he jolted into action, leaping out of his chair and confidently strolling up to Greg, pumping his hand up and down for an excruciatingly long ten seconds.

“Right – that was good, Peter! There were a few changes you could make, though – anyone got any suggestions?”

Normally, Lestrade's slightly patronising demeanour would have made Mycroft despise him. For whatever reason, he simply found himself listening more intently instead, focusing on every word slipping out of the man's mouth. Almost without him realising, Mycroft thrust up his hand, a tiny part of his subconscious criticising his overly enthusiastic reaction.

“Mycroft!”

“That hand shake was too long. He shouldn't be so confident – confidence is good, but that was just cocky.”

Greg raised his eyebrows at Mycroft. “Think you can do better, then?”

Keeping his face smooth and neutral, Mycroft approached the older man with ease, reaching out to shake his hand with fluidity and cracking a warm, if strained, smile. Greg laughed.

“Smiling is good, but try not to look constipated.”

The class laughed, and Mycroft cursed himself for the flush of embarrassment that overtook him. Damn hormones! Damn, blast, bloody hormones! His face flattened to its usual expression of boredom and he stormed back to his seat, lost in an internal struggle over whether a crush was an acceptable use of emotion, when emotions were so wholly unnecessary.

* * *

 

“Thank you, class – you were all focused today. Entirely unprofessional to admit it, but I much prefer you to the lot at the comprehensive in the town – you can pay attention for more than a few seconds at a time.”

There was an appreciative laugh around the room, for the animosity between the private and state schools in the town was well known, and it was likely that Greg said the exact same thing to them. Amongst the laughter, the older man added, “Mycroft, can you stay behind for a moment?”

Mycroft snapped out of his teenager-y, hormonal, entirely ridiculous stupor to glance at Greg. His face was as open and easy as usual, no hint of emotion on his face, but Mycroft still felt a ridiculous bubble of anxiety that he might be in trouble. After the room cleared, Greg shut the door and turned to Mycroft, who was stood behind his desk, his slightly awkward nature making him bend a little to be equal with Greg in height.

“Why weren't you paying attention today, Mycroft?” Greg asked, his tone pleasant.

“I was.” Mycroft replied, folding his arms and straightening himself to full height. He was eighteen, for Christ's sake, he wasn't going to let a potential scolding from someone he admired purely aesthetically throw him off.

“No, you weren't. Would you pay so little regard to your actual teachers?”

“No.”

“No, _sir_.”

The words came out of Mycroft's mouth before he could censor them. “No need to call me sir, Mr Lestrade.”

Greg closed his eyes and palmed his forehead for a moment, before looking directly at Mycroft. “I believe this school employs corporal punishment?”

Disbelief shot through Mycroft, but he dutifully replied, “Yes, sir.”

“What kind?”

“The cane or the slipper, sir.”

“Well, Mycroft.” Greg replied, the pleasant tone never leaving his voice. “If you have any attention problems in class again in future, I may be forced to use the cane.”

As Mycroft fled the classroom, feeling every inch the scolded schoolboy that he was, he tried hard to ignore the pricklings of an erection in his groin.

* * *

 

Biting his lip, Mycroft suppressed the moan that was on the tip of his tongue, yanking his blanket up and ramming it into his mouth. The other hand was working his erection, moving up and down with no degree of gentleness. The rough texture of the blanket tickled his penis, making him thrust harder, while the soft sheet slipped against his buttocks. In his mind, he was back in that classroom with Mr Lestrade...Inspector Lestrade, in his fantasies. The man was shirtless, for whatever reason, and was wielding a comically long cane. Mycroft himself was naked in his fantasies, which didn't involve one precise thing, but instead slid between moments...the sound of the cane that Mycroft was so familiar with, being a prefect, the look of Greg's hands clasped around the handle, the smell of the wooden desk as he was thrust over it...

As Mycroft came, he couldn't stop a sigh of relief from escaping his lips. Usually, he ignored these most feral of urges. Today, however, he couldn't. In the moments after his orgasm, lying in bed, he formulated a plan to find out if 'Inspector' Lestrade was bluffing.

* * *

 

Even if his plans had failed, Mycroft might really have been late to the next of Greg's classes due to a gaggle of annoying first years. The sessions with Greg came directly after break, and three of the little idiots decided that two minutes before the end of breaktime, right outside of the prefects office, was the perfect time and place for a scrap.

“In! In! In!”

He made the scolding brief, more akin to what young children would get than the arrogant, incorrigible thirteen year old firsties. This was his usual technique – in his opinion, the slipper was far more effective at getting a message across. Four whacks apiece proved his theory, and once they'd hobbled out Mycroft checked the clock. It was almost five minutes into the hour long session anyway – there was no need to linger in the toilets for long, as was his plan, just a quick trip would do. Thus, it was ten minutes into the lesson when Mycroft strolled into the class, not even bothering to knock.

“Ah, Mycroft, nice of you to finally join us.” Greg deadpanned. “To what do we owe this late pleasure?”

“Lost track of time.” he casually replied, hating that he was indulging himself so. He was purposefully enticing punishment, the only punishment of his school career, all to fulfil a fantasy? Ridiculous. As he spoke, a gasp ran around the room – Mycroft never, _ever_ disrespected a teacher, even a visiting one.

“Go and stand outside, Mycroft – we'll have a discussion at the end of the lesson.”

Mycroft had been Sherlock's brother for long enough to know what a 'discussion' entailed.

* * *

 

Just like the previous week, Greg closed the door before turning back to Mycroft. This week, however, he looked distinctly irritated.

“Explain.”

“I lost track of time, I told you!”

“Mycroft, I don't think you want me to report you to the headmaster. You _will_ respect me.”

Mycroft shivered and stood back a little, trying hard to urge away the erection which was on its way. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“Not only were you late to my lesson, you were disrespectful and you missed it. Do you remember what I said last time?”

“That you'd cane me, sir.” Mycroft licked his dry lips, anxiety creeping up and overwhelming his arousal. This was significantly less fun than in his fantasies.

“That's correct. Bend over the desk, Mycroft, and I hope to never have to do this to you again.”

Mycroft obeyed, lowering himself over the desk and clutching the other end, just as he'd instructed many younger pupils to do on many occasions. It was rather curious, being in the opposite position. Even with a few incidents at prep school and at home taken into account, Mycroft had been physically punished just a handful of times in his life, and all before the age of about ten. This situation was rather alien.

_Whack!_

For a second, Mycroft felt nothing, and then the hottest streak of burning pain he had ever experienced. The trace of a boner that remained vanished, and all Mycroft felt was the pain, the awful, awful pain. Momentarily he felt sorry for all the boys he had caned in the past, for he now fully appreciated how painful it was. Greg didn't wait around, and three more whacks came in quick succession, the final of which made Mycroft cry out in pain. This certainly wasn't the stuff of fantasies, not at all.

“You can get up now.”

Mycroft stood stiffly, trying to ignore the burning in his posterior and failing.

“If you're a naughty boy again, Mycroft, it'll be six.”

The slight smirk on Greg's face told Mycroft that he wasn't the only one who knew the true motivation behind the punishment.

* * *

 

That night, as the burning pain receded to a throb in his bottom, Mycroft began to consider what had happened. Arousal returned to the situation as he remembered every tiny detail, the press of the edge of the desk into his hips, the sound of the cane whipping through the air, the shape of the red tram-marks which he'd scrutinised after getting in from school. Locking his bedroom door tightly, Mycroft slid his trousers down and pressed his bottom against his wooden desk, relishing in the renewed burning. His cock was already hardening.

Greg knew how to please a man.

 


End file.
